


Boredom

by fiendlikequeen



Category: Miami Medical
Genre: Boredom, F/F, F/M, Fantasizing, basically eva gets bored and tries to stave it off, doing something a lot of people do, which is semi-jokingly fantasizing about the people they work with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Eva Zambrano likes her job. Most of the time, that is. Right now, she's hideously bored and trying to keep herself occupied, playing a little game to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boredom

**Author's Note:**

> This is because I ship Eva with literally everyone, and required a fic in which this happened.

Eva Zambrano usually likes her job. Something about the mixture of her Messiah complex, blinding intelligence, and the fact that she’s a textbook workaholic – if she’s being both critical and immodest about herself – make what she does something she usually likes.

Now isn’t one of those moments, because it doesn’t involve anything that appeals to any of the above listed character traits. Sitting holed up with the team, in hour fifteen of a sixteen-hour shift and a state somewhere between extreme exhaustion and mind-numbing boredom, reviewing what could possibly be classed as the dullest GSW case ever to land itself in Eva’s grasp, isn’t her idea of a good time.

Nor is it at all what she signed up for. She signed up for what she’s good at – working with her hands, making snap decisions, running pell-mell from OR to trauma room back to OR again. She didn’t sign up for sitting in the office, sprawled with Serena and Chris and Proctor about the table, while they review again and again the particulars of this case.

Something seems to have bothered Proctor about this one, and Eva can’t figure out what. That would ordinarily trouble her, since it drives her up the wall not knowing anything about the purposefully mysterious Dr. Proctor, but now she’s tired and bored and hungry and would rather lobotomize herself with a hemostat than ask any questions that aren’t one hundred percent necessary.

Though, if she’s thinking honestly, this doesn’t usually happen. Other than this incident, Proctor seems to be allergic to paperwork. Sure, he’s a great Chief when it’s time to make the big calls, or to impress upon someone the fact that he outranks them, but other than that he’s about as responsible as a teenager left alone for the weekend. Eva sort of agrees with him there – she, like Proctor, would much rather be elbows-deep in surgery than wrist deep in paperwork.

Then again, it is his job. Which, unfortunately for everyone else, he seems to be doing very responsibly right now.

Chris is talking, thank God, which is a good thing given that Serena looks somewhere between comatose and dead. She’s playing with a paperclip, twirling it on one of its points as she twists and turns her wrist. Every so often, Eva catches a flash of sliver as the clip hits the light of the setting sun.

Eva isn’t talking, not right now. She was contributing to the discussion before, but now she’s too dead tired, too fed up, and too pissed at Proctor to do anything except nod vaguely when something comes her way.

Eva really does like her job. And that makes her, most of the time, a consummate professional. With the exception of the occasional jab or jibe, she always behaves with the appropriate respect to her patients and colleagues.

But when she’s bored she can’t help it. She’d probably never say it out loud, but when she’s bored as all hell she likes to play a little game. It’s not really a game anymore, not with how pathetic it makes her seem, or how seriously she’d take it if a few drinks past her professionalism she was ever confronted with the situations she imagines. Still, it’s still a source of entertainment when otherwise she’d like to take a scalpel to someone’s head, just to liven things up out of the deadening boredom.

When Eva’s at the end of a shift, she occasionally – okay, if she’s being honest, a little more than occasionally – likes to imagine what it would be like to sleep with the members of her team.

Chris is the obvious first choice. She watches him as he speaks – arguing with Proctor again, what a surprise – and smiles a little. He rubs the back of his neck and his eyes flicker to her for a moment, momentarily fixing on her with a little surge of happiness – pupils dilating, giving him away – before he turns his attention back to Proctor.

She knows how she’d do it, though she hasn’t actually slept with him, contrary to what everyone thinks. Nor does she have a particular plan to sleep with him, contrary to the betting pool that’s sprung up around them. She also doesn’t try to flirt with him, not really. Though she does encourage him sometimes, because really, she likes him. Not just as a friend, and not just as a respected colleague.

Chris Deleo, with all that thick blond hair, those big, round blue eyes, and that undeniably pleasing physique, is a perfect specimen of what Eva likes. And, one of these days, she’s going to show him how much she likes it, no matter how much the professionally-detached Eva protests.

Because Chris once said that underneath their banter and all the rumours, there’s a kernel of truth to their subtext. Except it’s not a kernel of truth. If everyone’s being really, genuinely truthful, it’s a giant boulder of truth, made up of sexual chemistry that could level Miami. And boulders tend to have a way of making themselves known.

Boulders, if Eva correctly remembers the four trauma cases she saw after a landslide upstate, also have a way of doing fantastic amounts of damage. This is why she hasn’t slept with Chris yet, and doubtless why he never seriously makes a move on her. Their friendship isn’t worth the risk, or worth the damage that would almost certainly occur given Eva’s dreadful history as being hideously incompetent in relationships.

Still, it’s fun to imagine. Really fun. She’s seen Chris near-naked enough times to be able to imagine what lurks under his clothing, and it’s a good way to spice up the dull remainder of a sixteen-hour shift. How she always imagines it is in one of two ways.

The first that they meet up at the bar after work, have a few drinks and end up in bed together. This usually begins with Chris beginning to half-jokingly chat her up and ends with her straight-up sucking on his tongue three appletinis into some heavy flirtation. In the second case, she imagines that one of these days as Chris is scrubbing out of surgery, she’s going to drag him by the scruff of his neck into the nearest washroom, locker room, janitor’s closet, empty trauma room, or abandoned OR, and fuck him senseless.

She’s not sure which is less dignified – both are certainly not something she’d ever rationally or soberly consider, though some fun-loving, slightly slutty part of her likes both options for different reasons – but either one is a fun thing to imagine.

Eva is halfway through running through the logistics of the second scenario, set after the repair of an aortic dissection, and staged in bright technocolour in the invitingly daring backdrop of trauma room one, when somebody says her name.

She crosses her legs, mutters something, and avoids looking at Chris. He’s grinning, probably because he thinks she’s just zoned out and that it’s hysterically funny that the professionally-decorous Dr. Zambrano has just been caught daydreaming. She doubts he knows he caught her mid-fantasy about him. If he did, the irritating little shit would probably smirk, and ask her if she’d like to make her fantasy reality.

Which, of course, she would.

Serena, who’s sitting next to Chris, hasn’t seemed to notice anything going on around her, which is just as well since Eva has moved beyond Chris to consider what it would be like to fuck the charming and lithe little Dr. Serena Warren.

Eva’s not a lesbian. She wouldn’t even classify herself as bisexual. Eva doesn’t really like labels. They’re helpful in her job – organizing and classifying symptoms and tools and diseases and injuries is an integral part of fixing problems in her line of work. Outside work, they’re less helpful, and they’re quite often harmful.

At any rate, Eva’s not really attracted to Serena in an assertive way. All she can say is that should the opportunity present itself, she would jump right on it. That’s not only because she respects Serena’s intelligence and persistence – and for Eva respect is one of the biggest turn-ons she’s aware of, as disgustingly sentimental as it sounds – but because Serena’s quite the little beauty.

Eva’s beginning to wonder if she has a specific type, since both Serena and Chris share similar golden hair and clear, blue eyes. They also share a similar warm smile, full lips, and soft skin. The similarities end there, however, since Serena is distinctly littler, sprier, and seemingly more dexterous than the brawnier Chris. Both appeal to Eva, in different ways, and give her the irresistible opportunity to use them as ways of distracting herself from her boredom.

She’s taken it upon herself to mentor Serena in trauma, and she’d gladly take the opportunity to mentor her in other ways, too. If she were ever going to sleep with Serena she imagines it as something of a late-night study session, teaching her some advanced surgical technique after hours in the abandoned office.

Eva looks hard at Serena’s hands and imagines putting her own over them, and guiding them through motions and touches. She imagines standing behind Serena, the two of them bending over a table, Eva’s arms inching tighter and tighter about Serena until the younger woman is entirely in her embrace and it becomes obvious that Eva would like to teach her something other than surgery. She imagines how Serena would turn her head, and open her mouth to say something endearing or enthusiastic, and how she’d lean forward instead and lick that enthusiasm from her lips.

Eva would also be okay with seducing Serena at the bar – preferably on the dance floor, with Serena jumping and dancing in the strobe lights, her hair whipping from side to side, her hands high in the air, her lips open as she sings along with whatever song is playing – though she thinks that’s not as likely or as fun. Still, it’s a pleasure to consider what it would be like to take the bouncing, dancing Serena by the hips and kiss the sweet taste of crème de cacao out of Serena’s mouth.

Eva has to bite her own lips to avoid a smile as she stares at Serena. Serena, seeming to have surfaced momentarily from her mini-coma induced by sheer boredom, lets her gaze settle on Proctor. She then promptly turns back into a vegetable, staring open-mouthed and half-drooling at Proctor, conveniently telling everyone in the room – Proctor included – who it is she’s playing Eva’s game with.

For Eva, this shifts her attention to the last member of her team. Of there’s Matthew Proctor, who is the furthest from Eva’s type that she can possibly imagine. Regardless, it’s not only boredom that’s had her thinking about him in increasingly shady and questionable ways. In the past months, Eva’s gone from hating his guts to cautiously liking him, along with which went finding him passably attractive to having the strangest and most disgusting lust for him.

For a little while, she’d wondered if he was gay. Then she’d assumed he was divorced and didn’t do relationships. Then she’d noticed the way he looks at Serena, which labels him both as a red-blooded heterosexual, as well as something of a pervert. Serena is possibly young enough to be his daughter.

Eva isn’t. Eva’s a little older and, somewhere in the twisted logic of the darker corners of her mind, that makes fantasizing about him okay. The rest of her mind doesn’t think it’s okay, however, and rebels against the parts that like to imagine fucking him.

It’s not that she’s physically repelled by Proctor, he’s just not her type. He’s not blond or blue-eyed for a start, though she can admit that she likes the glow of his brown eyes. He’s much older than the rest of them, too, but still has the remnants of his youth and his attractiveness. She assumes he would have been very handsome in his day, and so she can superimpose these imaginings on the bizarre and eccentric Proctor she happens to know.

Proctor’s a genuinely neurotic, borderline misanthropic, distinctly intelligent, and possibly completely insane man who seems astonishingly trusting, shockingly worldly, and surprisingly kind. This mixture of traits, in combination with the fact that he seems to deliberately maintain a shroud of mystery, makes him undeniably appealing both to Serena and to – grudgingly – Eva.

It’s also that Proctor, along with paperwork, seems to be allergic to his own clothing. He sheds his shirt at nearly every opportunity, and works out enthusiastically before and after their shifts. This means that Eva’s seen him half-naked and sweaty more often than she’s seen Chris that way, which has left her with ample fodder for her imaginings.

Unlike for Chris and Serena, Eva has no specific fantasy for how or where or under what conditions she’d sleep with Proctor. It’s mostly because of the three of them, any sort of relationship with him is both unwelcome and unrealistic.

If she were going to sleep with Proctor, there would have to be at least one condition met. Something would have to happen to temporarily remove Chris and Serena from the picture. Chris, of course, because if he’s around it’s pretty much impossible that Eva would even consider sleeping with anyone else. She twists in her chair with embarrassed and aroused discomfort even admitting that in her thoughts. Serena would have to be out of the loop for the quite simple reason that if anyone is going to be screwing Proctor, it’s Serena.

Yes, yes, of course Serena doesn’t say that, and she maintains a pseudo-relationship that’s firmly dysfunctional with whoever that hunky reunion guy is. She also didn’t outright flip out when she found out Proctor had dated Dr. Sable – if anyone could ever call it a date.

But Serena spends a little too much time staring blankly at her mentor, and he a little too much time mentoring her. Serena was the first one to notice the scar from Proctor’s midline sternotomy, and the one who seems to need to examine it in detail at every opportunity. She also spends a little bit too much time chasing after him for approval, which could be justified by explaining that he’s the chief and she’s a new resident looking for acceptance, but is more likely explained as Serena’s attraction to him.

And, of course, there’s the bizarre little fact that Serena has chosen Proctor more than once as a shoulder to cry on. Eva thinks back to Serena’s first TOD, and how she opted to let Proctor console her. It’s not that Proctor’s unsympathetic, it’s that his sympathy seems to be both eccentric and shrouded, much like the rest of him.

Other than that, Eva has no idea how it would happen. Still, it’s fun to imagine – in some ways more fun than her imaginings of Serena or of Chris. That’s because it’s so impossibly ridiculous that it’s like imagining winning the lottery, or becoming a glamorous movie star. Ridiculous or not, Eva’s seen how athletic Proctor is, how having a heart attack seems to have made him lither, fitter, and stronger than a whole lot of men half his age.

She’s seen him jump up onto a gurney on more than one occasion, quickly and smoothly and effectively mounting whichever patient is lying there. And that is, of course, just a few small steps in Eva’s fantasy-addled brain from imagining how Proctor would–

Eva shakes her head. Even for a boredom-induced fantasy, that’s going a little far.

With a little sigh, she glances up at the clock. Time, miraculously, has passed. Fifteen minutes remain in her shift. After this, maybe the four of them will go down to the bar and drink their exhaustion away. After that, maybe one of her fantasies will come true.

She gives a little snort of laughter. She doubts it.


End file.
